66 By no means," said Graham. by Graham, and, in that matter of the proposed "Oh, very well," said Fitzallen. "Then we partnership, was sure that old Balsam, the ownunderstand that the arena of love is open to user of the business, would be glad to take a sum both. I do not fail to appreciate the immense of money down. "He has a son of his own," advantages which you enjoy in this struggle." said Albert, "but he don't take to it at all. And then Fitzallen looked up into Graham's He's gone into wine and spirits; but he don't ugly face, and thought of his own appearance in sell half as much as he drinks." the looking-glass. "What I want to know is this," said Felix. "If you marry Mary Snow, what means have you of maintaining her? Would your mother receive her into her house? I presume you are not a partner in that shop; but would it be possible to get you in as a partner, supposing Mary were to marry you and had a little money as her fortune?" "Eh!" said Albert, dropping his look of pride, allowing his hand to fail from his lips, and standing still before his companion with his mouth wide open. · “Of course you mean honestly by dear Mary." **Oh, Sir, yes, on the honor of a gentleman. My intentions, Sir, are Mr. Graham, I love that young lady with a devotion of heart that-that-that- Then you don't mean to marry her yourself; eh. Mr. Graham?” ** No. Mr. Fitrallen. I do not. And now, if you will so far ccadde in me, we will talk over your prospects" * Ob, very well. I'm sure you are very kind. Bat Miss Stow did tell me—” "Yes. I know she did, and she was quite right. But as you said just now, a woman's heart can not be bought by friendship. I have not been a bad friend to Mary, but I had no right to expect that I could win her love in that way. Whether or no you may be able to succeel. I will not sy, but I have abandoned the parsuit.” In all which Graham intended to be exceedingly honest, but was in truth, rather Aportacal •Deen the course is open to me," said Fitz “Yox, the course is open," answered Graham. «But the race has still to be ran. Don't you think that Miss Snow is of her nature very Felix then proposed that he should call on Mrs. Fitzallen, and to this Albert gave a blushing consent. "Mother has heard of it," said Albert, "but I don't exactly know how." Perhaps Mrs. Fitzallen was as attentive as Mrs. Thomas had been to stray documents packed away in odd places. "And I suppose I may call on-on-Mary?" asked the lover, as Graham took his leave. But Felix could give no authority for this, and explained that Mrs. Thomas might be found to be a dragon still guarding the Hesperides. Would it not be better to wait till Mary's father had been informed? And then, if all things went well, he might prosecute the affair in due form and as an acknowledged lover. All this was very nice, and as it was quite unexpected Fitzallen could not but regard himself as a fortunate young man. He had never contemplated the possibility of Mary Snow being an heiress. And when his mother had spoken to him of the hopelessness of his passion, had suggested that he might perhaps marry his Mary in five or six years. Now the dearest wish of his heart was brought close within his reach, and he must have been a happy man. But yet, though this certainly was so, nevertheless there was a feeling of coldness about his love, and almost of disappointment as he again took his place behind the counter. The sorrows of Lydia in the play when she finds that her passion meets with general approbation are very absurd, but nevertheless are quite true to nature. Lovers would be great losers if the path of love were always to 'run smooth. Under such a dispensation, indeed, there would probably be no lovers. The matter would be too tame. Albert did not probably bethink himself of a becoming disguise, as did Lydia-of an amiable ladder of ropes, of a conscious moon, or a Scotch parson; but he did feel, in some undefined manner, that the romance of his life had been taken away from him. Five minutes under a lamp-post with Mary Snow was sweeter to him than the promise of a whole bevy of evenings spent in the same society, with all the comforts of his mother's drawing-room around him. Ah yes, dear readers-my male readers, of course, I mean-were not those minutes under the lamp-post always very pleasant? Fox remembered the one kiss beneath the lamp-post-the one kiss given and received. He remembered also that Mary's acquaintance with the gestioman must necessarily have been sort; and be made no answer to this question. Bat de made a comparison. What would Made live have sud and done had be attempted such an iniquity? And he thought of her flashing eyes and terriddo scorn, of the utter indignation But Graham encountered none of this feeling of all the Staveler Simuly, and of the wretched when he discussed the same subject with Aladyss into which the orfender would have fallen. bert's mother. She was sufficiently alive to He brought back the subject at once to the the material view of the matter, and knew how jong man's means, to his mother, and to the much of a man's married happiness depends on dwork shy; and though he learned nothing his supplies of bread-and-butter. Six hundred that was very promising, neither did he learn pounds! Mr. Graham was very kind - very any thing that was the reverse. Albert Fitz- kind indeed. She hadn't a word to say against aden did not ride a very high borso when he Mary Snow. She had seen her, and thought learned that his supposed rival was so anxious her very pretty and modest looking. Albert to assist hat. He was quite willing to be guided was certainly warmly attached to the young lady. Of that she was quite certain. And she would say this of Albert—that a better-disposed young man did not exist any where. He came home quite regular to his meals, and spent ten hours a day behind the counter in Mr. Balsam's shop-ten hours a day, Sundays included, which Mrs. Fitzallen regarded as a great drawback to the medical line—as should I also, most undoubtedly. But six hundred pounds would make a great difference. Mrs. Fitzallen little doubted but that sum would tempt Mr. Balsam into a partnership, or perhaps the five hundred, leaving one hundred for furniture. In such a case Albert would spend his Sundays at home, of course. After that, so much having been settled, Felix Graham got into an omnibus and took himself back to his own chambers. So far was so good. This idea of a model wife had already become a very expensive idea, and in winding it up to its natural conclusion poor Graham was willing to spend almost every shilling that he could call his own. But there was still another difficulty in his way. What would Snow père say? Snow père was, he knew, a man with whom dealings would be more difficult than with Albert Fitzallen. And then, seeing that he had already promised to give his remaining possessions to Albert Fitzallen, with what could he bribe Snow père to abandon that natural ambition to have a barrister for his son-in-law? In these days, too, Snow père had derogated even from the position in which Graham had first known him, and had become but little better than a drunken, begging impostor. What a father-in-law to have had! And then Felix Graham thought of Judge Staveley. affect our hearts, but I do not think she ever becomes so nauseous a thing as the man that has abandoned all the hopes of life for gin. You can still touch her; ay, and if the task be in one's way, can touch her gently, striving to bring her back to decency. But the other! Well, one should be willing to touch him too, to make that attempt of bringing back upon him also. I can only say that the task is both nauseous and unpromising. Look at him as he stands there before the foul, reeking, sloppy bar, with the glass in his hand, which he has just emptied. See the grimace with which he puts it down, as though the dram had been almost too unpalatable. It is the last touch of hypocrisy with which he attempts to cover the offense; as though he were to say, "I do it for my stomach's sake; but you know how I abhor it." Then he skulks sullenly away, speaking a word to no one, shuffling with his feet, shaking himself in his foul rags, pressing himself into a heap-as though striving to drive the warmth of the spirit into his extremities! And there he stands lounging at the corner of the street, till his short patience is exhausted, and he returns with his last penny for the other glass. When that has been swallowed the policeman is his guardian. Reader, such as you and I have come to that, when abandoned by the respect which a man owes to himself. May God in his mercy watch over us and protect us both! "You mean to say, Mr. Graham"--and under the effect of gin he turned the name into Gorm -"that you are going to throw that young girl over ?" Such a man was Snow père as he stood before Graham in his chambers in the Temple. He could not ask him to sit down, so he himself stood up as he talked to him. At first the man was civil, twirling his old hat about, and shifting from one foot to the other; very civil, and He sent, however, to the engraver, and the also somewhat timid, for he knew that he was man was not long in obeying the summons. In half drunk at the moment. But when he began latter days Graham had not seen him frequently, to ascertain what was Graham's object in sendhaving bestowed his alms through Mary, and ing for him, and to understand that the gentlewas shocked at the unmistakable evidence of the man before him did not propose to himself the gin-shop which the man's appearance and voice honor of being his son-in-law, then his civility betrayed. How dreadful to the sight are those left him, and, drunk as he was, he spoke out his watery eyes; that red, uneven, pimpled nose; mind with sufficient freedom. those fallen cheeks; and that hanging, slobbered mouth! Look at the uncombed hair, the beard half shorn, the weak, impotent gait of the man, and the tattered raiment, all eloquent of gin! You would fain hold your nose when he comes nigh you, he carries with him so foul an evidence of his only and his hourly indulgence. You would do so, had you not still a respect for his feelings, which he himself has entirely forgotten to maintain. How terrible is that absolute loss of all personal dignity which the drunkard is obliged to undergo! And then his voice! Every tone has been formed by gin, and tells of the havoc which the compound has made within his throat. I do not know whether such a man as this is not the vilest thing which grovels on God's earth. There are women whom we affect to scorn with the full power of our contempt; but I doubt whether any woman sinks to a depth so low as that. She also may be a drunkard, and as such may more nearly move our pity and "I mean to say no such thing. I shall do for her all that is in my power. And if that is not as much as she deserves, it will, at any rate, be more than you deserve for her." "And you won't marry her?" "No, I shall not marry her. Nor does she wish it. I trust that she will be engaged, with my full approbation-" "And what the deuce, Sir, is your full approbation to me? Whose child is she, I should like to know? Look here, Mr. Gorm; perhaps you forget that you wrote me this letter when I allowed you to have the charge of that young girl?" And he took out from his breast a very greasy pocket-book, and displayed to Felix his own much-worn letter-holding it, however, at a distance, so that it should not be torn from his "I've nothing more to say; and if I had, I would not say it to you now. Your child shall be taken care of." "That's what I call pretty cool on the part of any gen'leman. And you're to break your word -a regular breach of promise, and nothing ain't to come of it! I'll tell you what, Mr. Gorm, you'll find that something will come of it. What do you think I took this letter for ?" "You took it, I hope, for Mary's protection." "She shall, undoubtedly; but I fear not by you. For the present I will protect her; and I hope that soon a husband will do so who will love her. Now, Mr. Snow, I've told you all I've got to say, and I must trouble you to leave me." CHAPTER LVIII. MISS STAVELEY DECLINES TO EAT MINCED VEAL. THE house at Noningsby was now very quiet. All the visitors had gone, including even the Arbuthnots. Felix Graham and Sophia Furnival, that terrible pair of guests, had relieved Mrs. Staveley of their presence; but, alas! the mischief they had done remained behind them. The house was very quiet, for Augustus and the judge were up in town during the greater part of the week, and Madeline and her mother were alone. The judge was to come back to Noningsby but once before he commenced the circuit which was to terminate at Alston; and it seemed to be acknowledged now on all sides that nothing more of importance was to be done or said in that locality until after Lady Mason's trial. It may be imagined that poor Madeline was not very happy. Felix had gone away, having made no sign, and she knew that her mother rejoiced that he had so gone. She never accused her mother of cruelty, even within her own heart. She seemed to realize to herself the assurance that a marriage with the man she loved was a happiness which she had no right to expect. She knew that her father was rich. She was aware that in all probability her own fortune would be considerable. She was quite sure that Felix Graham was clever and fit to make his way through the world. And yet she did not think it hard that she should be separated from him. She acknowledged from the very first that he was not the sort of man whom she ought to have loved, and therefore she was pre Nevertheless there were many more words between them before Graham could find himself alone in his chambers. Though Snow père might be a thought tipsy-a sheet or so in the wind, as folks say, he was not more tipsy than was customary with him, and knew pretty well what he was about. "And what am I to do with my self, Mr. Gorm?" he asked in a sniveling voice, when the idea began to strike him that it might perhaps be held by the courts of law that his in-pared to submit. tended son-in-law was doing well by his daughter. "Work," said Graham, turning upon him sharply and almost fiercely. "That's all very well. It's very well to say 'Work!'" "You'll find it well to do it, too. Work, and don't drink. You hardly think, I suppose, that if I had married your daughter I should have found myself obliged to support you in idleness ?" "It would have been a great comfort in my old age to have had a daughter's house to go to," said Snow, naïvely, and now reduced to lachrymose distress. It was, no doubt, the fact that Felix Graham had never whispered to her a word of love, and that therefore, on that ground, she had no excuse for hope. But had that been all, she would not have despaired. Had that been all, she might have doubted, but her doubt would have been strongly mingled with the sweetness of hope. He had never whispered a syllable of love, but she had heard the tone of his voice as she spoke a word to him at his chamber door; she had seen his eyes as they fell on her when he was lifted into the carriage; she had felt the tremor of his touch on that evening when she walked up to him across the drawing-room and shook hands with him. Such a girl as Made But when he found that Felix would do no-line Staveley does not analyze her feelings on thing for him; that he would not on the present occasion lend him a sovereign, or even half a crown, he again became indignant and paternal, and in this state of mind was turned out of the room. "Heaven and earth!" said Felix to himself, clenching his hands and striking the table with both of them at the same moment. That was the man with whom he had proposed to link himself in the closest ties of family connection. Albert Fitzallen did not know Mr. Snow; but it might be a question whether it would not be Graham's duty to introduce them to each other. such a matter, and then draw her conclusions. But a conclusion is drawn; the mind does receive an impression; and the conclusion and impression are as true as though they had been reached by the aid of logical reasoning. Had the match been such as her mother would have approved, she would have had a hope as to Felix Graham's love-strong enough for happiness. As it was, there was no use in hoping; and therefore she resolved - having gone through much logical reasoning on this head-that by her all ideas of love must be abandoned. As regarded herself, she must be content to rest by her mother's side as a flower ungathered. That she could marry no man without the approval of her father and mother was a thing to her quite certain; but it was, at any rate, as certain that she could marry no man without her own approval. Felix Graham was beyond her reach. That verdict she herself pronounced, and to it she submitted. But Peregrine Orme was still more distant from her; Peregrine Orme, or any other of the curled darlings who might come that way playing the part of a suitor. She knew what she owed to her mother, but she also knew her own privileges. There was nothing said on the subject between the mother and child during three days. Lady Staveley was more than ordinarily affectionate to her daughter, and in that way made known the thoughts which were oppressing her; but she did so in no other way. All this Madeline understood, and thanked her mother with the sweetest smiles and the most constant companionship. Nor was she, even now, absolutely unhappy or wretchedly miserable; as under such circumstances would be the case with many girls. She knew all that she was prepared to abandon, but she understood also how much remained to her. Her life was her own, and with her life the energy to use it. Her soul was free. And her heart, though burdened with love, could endure its load without sinking. Let him go forth on his career. She would remain in the shade, and be contented while she watched it. So strictly wise and philosophically serene had Madeline become within a few days of Graham's departure, that she snubbed poor Mrs. Baker, when that good-natured and sharp-witted housekeeper said a word or two in praise of her late patient. "We are very lonely, ain't we, Miss, without Mr. Graham to look after ?" said Mrs Baker. "I am sure we are all very glad that he has so far recovered as to be able to be moved." "That's in course-though I still say that he went before he ought. He was such a nice gentleman. Where there's one better there's twenty worse; and as full of cleverness as an egg's full of meat." In answer to which Madeline said nothing. "At any rate, Miss Madeline, you ought to say a word for him," continued Mrs. Baker; "for he used to worship the sound of your voice. I've known him to lie there and listen, listen, listen, for your very footfall." "How can you talk such stuff, Mrs. Baker? You have never known any thing of the kind; and even if he had, how could you know it? You should not talk such nonsense to me, and I beg you won't again." Then she went away, and began to read a paper about sick people written by Florence Nightingale. But it was by no means Lady Staveley's desire that her daughter should take to the Florence Nightingale line of life. The charities of Noningsby were done on a large scale, in a quiet, handsome, methodical manner, and were regarded by the mistress of the mansion as a very material part of her life's duty; but she would VOL. XXV.-No. 146-O And have been driven distracted had she been told that a daughter of hers was about to devote herself exclusively to charity. Her ideas of general religion were the same. Morning and evening prayers, church twice on Sundays, attendance at the Lord's table at any rate once a month, were to herself-and in her estimation for her own family-essentials of life. they had on her their practical effects. She was not given to backbiting-though, when stirred by any motive near to her own belongings, she would say an ill-natured word or two. She was mild and forbearing to her inferiors. Her hand was open to the poor. She was devoted to her husband and her children. In no respect was she self-seeking or self-indulgent. But, nevertheless, she appreciated thoroughly the comforts of a good income-for herself and for her children. She liked to see nice-dressed and nice-mannered people about her, preferring those whose fathers and mothers were nice before them. She liked to go about in her own carriage, comfortably. She liked the feeling that her husband was a judge, and that he and she were therefore above other lawyers and other lawyers' wives. She would not like to have seen Mrs. Furnival walk out of a room before her, nor perhaps to see Sophia Furnival when married take precedence of her own married daughter. She liked to live in a large place like Noningsby, and preferred country society to that of the neighboring town. It will be said that I have drawn an impossible character, and depicted a woman who served both God and Mammon. To this accusation I will not plead, but will ask my accusers whether in their life's travail they have met no such ladies as Lady Staveley? But such as she was, whether good or bad, she had no desire whatever that her daughter should withdraw herself from the world, and give up to sick women what was meant for mankind. Her idea of a woman's duties comprehended the birth, bringing up, education, and settlement in life of children, also due attendance upon a husband, with a close regard to his special taste in cookery. There was her granddaughter Marian. She was already thinking what sort of a wife she would make, and what commencements of education would best fit her to be a good mother. It is hardly too much to say that Marian's future children were already a subject of care to her. Such being her disposition, it was by no means matter of joy to her when she found that Madeline was laying out for herself little ways of life, tending in some slight degree to the monastic. Nothing was said about it, but she fancied that Madeline had doffed a ribbon or two in her usual evening attire. That she read during certain fixed hours in the morning was very manifest. As to that daily afternoon service at four o'clock-she had very often attended that, and it was hardly worthy of remark that she now went to it every day. But there seemed at this time to be a monotonous regularity about her visits to the poor, which told to Lady Staveley's mind-she hardly knew What could Lady Staveley's idea have been of the sorrows of some other mothers, whose daughters throw themselves away after a different fashion? After lunch on Sunday the judge asked his daughter to walk with him, and on that occasion the second church service was abandoned. She got on her bonnet and gloves, her walkingboots and winter shawl, and putting her arm happily and comfortably within his, started for what she knew would be a long walk. "We'll get as far as the bottom of Cleeve Hill," said the judge. Now the bottom of Cleeve Hill, by the path across the fields and the common, was five miles from Noningsby. "Oh, as for that, I'll walk to the top if you like," said Madeline. "If you do, my dear, you'll have to go up alone," said the judge. And so they started. There was a crisp, sharp enjoyment attached to a long walk with her father which Madeline always loved, and on the present occasion she was willing to be very happy; but as she started, with her arm beneath his, she feared she knew not what. She had a secret, and her fa "Oh no, I shall not," said Madeline, with ther might touch upon it; she had a sore, though her prettiest smile. "But you always used to like minced veal." "So I do, but I won't have any to-day, mamma, thank you." Then Lady Staveley resolved that she would tell the judge that Felix Graham, bad as he might be, might come there if he pleased. Even Felix Graham would be better than no son-inlaw at all. On the following day, the Saturday, the judge came down with Augustus, to spend his last Sunday at home before the beginning of his circuit, and some little conversation respecting Felix Graham did take place between him and his wife. it was not an unwholesome, festering sore, and her father might probe the wound. There was, therefore, the slightest shade of hypocrisy in the alacrity with which she prepared herself, and in the pleasant tone of her voice as she walked down the avenue toward the gate. But by the time that they had gone a mile, when their feet had left the road and were pressing the grassy field-path, there was no longer any hypocrisy in her happiness. Madeline believed that no human being could talk as did her father, and on this occasion he came out with his freshest thoughts and his brightest wit. Nor did he, by any means, have the talk all to himself. The delight of Judge Staveley's conversation consisted chiefly in that-that though he might bring on to the carpet all the wit and all the information going, he rarely uttered much beyond his own share of words. now they talked of pictures and politics-of the new gallery that was not to be built at Charing Cross, and the great onslaught which was not to end in the dismissal of Ministers. And then they got to books-to novels, new poetry, magazines, essays, and reviews; and with the slight"But, my love, it seems that she does not est touch of pleasant sarcasm the judge passed like Mr. Orme." "If they are both really fond of each other they had better marry," said the judge, curtly. "But it is terrible to think of their having no income," said his wife. "We must get them an income. You'll find that Graham will fall on his legs at last." "He's a very long time before he begins to use them," said Lady Staveley. "And then you know The Cleeve is such a nice property, and Mr. Orme is-" ask me, I don't think his beauty will lery. And sentence on the latest efforts of his literary con"No, she doesn't," said the poor mother, in temporaries. And thus at last they settled down a tone of voice that was very lachrymose. "But on a certain paper which had lately appeared in if she would only wait she might like him a certain Quarterly—a paper on a grave subject, might she not now? He is such a very hand-which had been much discussed-and the judge some young man.' on a sudden stayed his hand and spared his rail"If you "I don't suppose she cares for that sort of thing," said Lady Staveley, almost crying. "But I'm sure of this, if she were to go and make a nun of herself it would break my heart-it would indeed. I should never hold up my head again." do it." "You have not heard, I suppose, who wrote that?" said he. No; Madeline had not heard. She would much like to know. When young people begin their world of reading there is nothing so pleasant to them as knowing the little secrets of literature: who wrote this and that, of which folk are then talking; who man |